Wasted Potential: Looker

    They're the characters that could have been something. They're the ones who had the coolest powers, or the best possible backgrounds. They had some spark of potential, of possibility. They're the ones who would have become something far more than they became, if only for one little push, or one person who was willing to explore who they are. They're the ones who may have become great, but were let down. And in turn, they let us down.

    This is all about the Wasted Potential, and what might have been, had someone put just a bit more thought into them.

    I'm the Knight, and I'd like to bring you some of the possibilities and angles that made some characters iconic, but then quickly forgettable because of what little was done for them. They may have been somewhat popular, or cool, or groundbreaking. They were the ones given the most hype, or the most page presence. They were the ones we were told were meant for us, but in the end, were left behind. And when it's all said and done, I'll give you my take, and some direction that may have served the character if they were really rebooted. For the first installment, let's have a look at a beauty that might have been something, had DC decided to treat the character as something more than a fashion trend.

    Let's begin by looking at Emily Briggs, aka Looker the psychic vampire superhero.

The Character:

    Emily Briggs was a mousy bank teller, who was happily married and had a steady, if uneventful, life. Well, until the day she found out she was in line for the throne of an underground kingdom, and was abducted so that she would rule over them. It was when Hailey's Comet passed by that the mousy teller was transformed into a statuesque beauty who would take the handle "Looker". With the new found beauty came the immense psychic abilities that came with her status, making her one of the most powerful psychics in the DCU. Telepathy, Telekinesis, Psychometry, Energy projection (like blasts and shields), flight, and even abilities like enhanced healing and metabolism (which helped her in her future career as a supermodel). It's very possible that she was strong enough to go toe-to-toe with what many consider DC's most powerful psychic, Martian Manhunter, who himself is a character that can fight Superman to a stand still (and possibly win, if outside help doesn't come for Kal El).

    For a while, she worked with the Batman and the Outsiders, but it was apparent that she let her beauty get the best of her judgements. Though still an intelligent, capable woman, she clearly couldn't handle her new features and importance, unintentionally causing grief and strife for her teammates, and her husband when she had an affair with teammate Geo-Force, the prince of Markovia. Shortly after ending the affair, she was called back to Abyssia to fight for her throne, but in the process was stripped of her beauty and much of her powers, which were all returned without explanation later. While a member of the Outsiders, she's one of the few that are able to penetrate Batman's mental guards, and learn of his turmoil, making her more sympathetic to his plight and role.

    Then came the vampiric invasion of Markovia. Geo-Force summoned the Outsiders to his kingdom to help stem the tide, but in the midst of all this, Looker found herself alone with the progenitor of the invading vampires, Roderick. On sight, Roderick was taken by her, and immediately turned her, intending to take her as his bride. But she rebuked him, and escaped with the Outsiders, who were framed for the death of Queen Ilona, who was ruling Markovia and sought to kill Geo-Force during the invasion to have sole claim to the throne. Serving as fugitives for a while, they were able to rally enough support, and learn enough about Roderick to finally destroy him. But it came at a high cost for Looker. Not only was she still one of the undead, but her husband served her with a divorce. She abandoned her old life, and fully embraced being a vampire, but with the added bonus of the sun not being able to harm her due to being a metahuman before being turned.

    Things have continued down this route, with her using her beauty to remain in the spotlight as a model while hunting down her fellow vampires, as her psychic abilities have continued to grow (even being able to reach to other planets in terms of range), while she simultaneously became more prone to vampiric weaknesses. As of the New 52 reboot, she's essentially the same as her more recent version, but with full vampiric weakness in place, completely isolating her from daylight and all things relating to the daytime.

The Waste:

    Where does one go with a character like Looker?

    That's the main question that has to be asked with her. She's ultimately an ugly duckling story, with a sliding power scale that progressed as time went on. And that's where the first problem arises. In a world with Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman, not to mention the New Gods and a host of other incredibly powerful entities, many creators and fans tend to think that power equals absolute presence. Which is funny, because the character many people consider DC's flagship is someone that has no powers (except for plot contrivance and overblown fan responses). The real issue with power scale isn't in the power itself, but in application, and that's one area where Looker is ultimately wasted. Due to power scale progression, she can go toe to toe with Martian Manhunter, who himself can go toe to toe with Superman. In some regards, that's AWESOME. A female character that isn't as physically strong as some of the more well known heroes, but can hold her own in a fight by pure mental abilities? Diversity like that is what makes comics awesome, because not everyone's going to have the same skills or powers, but everyone deserves a chance to shine.

    And speaking of shine, the biggest issue is immediately apparent in her post-vampire transformation. This
is where the powerset just becomes absolutely ludicrous. On top of having immense psychic abilities, due to the transformation into a vampire, she has strength, speed, greater resilience, shapeshifting abilities, absolute control over lesser creatures like vermin, additional mesmerism capabilities, and the concept of immortality added to an already comprehensive powerset. And frankly, that's almost Mary Sue levels of powerscale. The other problem with the vampire addition to her backstory is also one of the worst things you can do to a character: a blatant change to market on current trends. In her case, she was turned around the time that Interview with a Vampire was released. To cash in on the trend, there were quite a few characters and stories made to fit around the introduction or expansion of vampires in comics, and this is sadly one of those byproducts of that influx, which was continued after Twilight and True Blood became hits. Couple an unchanged haughty attitude with a vampiric storyline, and you tend to get a character that is not only a hackneyed shell of a potential character, but also a dated and vastly inferior character due to no growth or progression towards being something other than a pretty face that people will not identify with.

With all that in mind, how do you change a character, but remain true to not only her, but also to those around her.

The Fix:

    Here's where you can have some fun with the concept of "superpowered ex-model".

    Strip the unnecessary vampire backstory. Remove the whole royalty angle. Now, what do you have? A badass psychic ex-model with a bit of an attitude named "Looker". Notice the name. Now what could "looker" mean? It can mean someone beautiful. It can mean someone who has psychic power. Now, take a look at the pic of Sherlock and Holmes from the BBC production on the left.

    That "click" you heard in your head? Yeah, that was awesomeness entering the equation.

    The idea that they haven't played more with her handle and her powers flabbergasts me. You have someone who is known for her beauty, and not using her abilities to help people, while using her looks as one of her tools is a sad fact about most creators. The impetus is more on her being used for melodrama as of late, but that does her a disservice, in my opinion. So there's one way to make her noticeable for a right reason: bring her back to square one, but on a completely different board. And that board is the "psychic detective" trope that DC abandoned long ago. Albeit that her powers would have to be drastically reduced, that would actually work in her favor. A character's strength comes in application, and not in their powers. Believing the character is found in their powers alone is the equivalent of ordering a sandwich, and removing the internals so that you can just have the bread and the condiments that were put on it.

    So, you might be asking "how does reducing everything about her for a reboot will change the character for the better". Well, that's why it's called a reboot. The idea is completely retooling and re-purposing elements of a characters' story so that it can not only be taken in a new direction, but also stay true to the character. And that's why the psychic detective trope is perfect for Looker. You can keep the attitude, you can keep the essential powers, and then highlight aspects of her personality that many tend to forget about her: that she's an intelligent woman who came from nothing, who essentially does care about people, and the fact that she had fame, but lost it all for a specific reason. I'm just changing the reason and how she got her powers.

    The idea is that she was a model, but she never knew she was royalty. The comet aspect works to this day, but the circumstances that revealed her powers have changed. On the night that Michel's Comet (something made specifically for the story, as it's practically unavoidable due to Hailey's Comet only appears once every 75 years) passes by our planet, Mrs. Briggs was at a party celebrating the release of a new shoot that's reached over 30 million views in a week, and sending the site to unprecedented numbers. She and her husband Gregg get separated by the owner of the site, who proceeds to give her drink after drink, and attempting to woo her, to which she is rejecting. In a rage, he begins to strangle her, causing her powers to erupt, showing Emily what he's done to other models and women. She can't call to her husband vocally, but her powers can, alerting him where she is. As he rushes to help her, he's just in time to distract the would-be rapist long enough to let Emily recover, at which point she unleashes on him, and telekinetically throws him through several walls in the process. After being blacklisted in the modeling world by executives and people who were jealous of her in the first place, she instead went into college, and earning a degree in Criminal Justice in two years, and successfully passing the Police Academy, she then put her services for hire, acting as a private investigator, with her husband as her assistant. If you're wealthy, you can pay. If you can't, no need to worry. Your cause is worth a look.

    It's from this basis that you not only play with a set of overdone tropes (the "rape as origin" concept, female empowerment = sexiness and exposed flesh), but also quickly subvert them as well with the full development. You can create characters with haughty attitudes, but making them someone people can relate to is the main issue. And for that, there are two main ways to make relatable characters: bring them to a point where there's a commonality between the character and the readers, or give them traits or aspects that provide a unique perspective. And for that, you turn to the weaknesses. Looker's powers are impressive, but they usually come at a price. If she's not careful, the overwhelming static of everything with even a conscious thought can overtake her, and she does tend to shy away or be abrasive with people, albeit in a snarky, "I just want a little space, please" way.

    For example:

    Panel 1: Looker is at the counter, waiting for her coffee to arrive. The patrons of the coffee shop are talking away in the background. She is looking away as a young man, dressed as a bro, is eying her. It's obvious what his intentions are.

    Panel 2: The bro is trying to look his most suave, a combination of a sneer and a duck face, as he flexes his arm, showing off how built he is. Looker sees his actions, and is clearly not amused. Her coffee is delivered by a worker's hand from the bottom of the panel.

    Bro: Hey, girl! You ain't gotta be psychic to be all into my mind! I can do things to you no other man can do!

    Panel 3: A shot of pink energy from her eyes is visible to the reader, as she reaches for her coffee. The bro's face contorts into a goofy look, as his body has motion lines around it. He is mid-motion as he is falling over backwards, groaning. The patrons behind them have noticed what's going on.

    Panel 4: Looker is calmly holding her coffee, clearly amused with herself as she looks down at the man on the floor. The patrons are laughing and pointing at the man on the floor, hidden by the counter top.

    Looker: Was it as good for you as it was for me, baby?

    Now, that's not to say that the only potential for the character is purely comedic. For all her strengths, her flaws can still come out. The new ugly duckling story for Mrs. Briggs comes from a Blue Collar background. Growing up poor and gangly, she was picked on ridiculously badly until her 18th birthday, when she was discovered. She may not outwardly express it, but she does have a strong geek side, due to the comfort that sort of retreat gave her in her formative years. That sudden "rags to riches" kind of setting does change people, and that's where she developed her haughty attitude. Given the added bonus of her powers, she can come across as frigid or spiteful at times, but that's also partly due to her powers overwhelming her.

    But there's another part to her weakness: no matter how hard she tries, outside of telepathic communication with her husband, Gregg, she is completely unable to read him outside of cursory details like location and emotions. One of the real bonuses she thought she would get would be a greater intimacy with her husband, and somehow she is unable to do anything outside of just talk with him, and know where he is. And this troubles her immensely. He's a loving husband, and her strongest supporter, but that seeming gap between them is both disquieting to her, and frightening in her own mental processes. For all her love for her abilities, it's her fear of loneliness that really drives home the pathos for the couple.

    It's from this point we can then further develop stories and plot details for future issues. What exactly does Michel's Comet really portend? Who are her potential enemies and allies? What if she really did come from royalty that was driven underground (but not in a literal sense)? There are a ton of renewed possibilities when you free Looker from the responsibilities of being a Queen, a Vampire, and a model. The idea was to always allow the possible to happen, instead of worrying about making a character relevant or able to compete with other characters. The relation is in the character, not the power. The character is the potential, and that's why reboots need to be thought out instead of rehashed.

Creepypasta: I Can Feel Them

    I am a Chronic Insomniac. I've been one since I was 5 years old. One night, I woke up extremely early, and from then on, if I didn't pass out entirely from exhaustion, then I'm awake for a minimum of four days at a time. My worst span of insomnia was when I was 14 to 15 years old, where I would get (at most) one hour of sleep per 5 days. I'm not going to go into details about my life, just that I've had mishaps that have crippled me, a family that's survived things like organ transplants, drug addictions, family betrayals, and the like. But it all came to a head when my brother went missing (part of the drug addiction element). My family was incredibly stressed, but I went through my own issues privately, in order to give them room.

    The first couple of days weren't so bad. I was used to going without sleep at this point, so I kept myself busy. I read my Classical Latin textbooks, I fucked around on the computer, I watched the same Chop Socky and cheesy horror flicks I grew up with, and waited for daybreak to go to school, interact with people my own age, and then go home to do the same things all over again. Lather, rinse, repeat. That is, until I remained awake for the fifth day. The fifth dawn caught me off guard. I was used to ignoring my sleep cycle, but I figured that I would finally crash and succumb to the silent succor of slumber. But nope, there I was, awake on the fifth dawn, and wearily reticent for it.

    I went to school, and did the daily tasks, but by noon, I was starting to feel rather uncomfortable. I could feel a tingly sensation, like there were thousands of insects crawling on me. I spent the next 3 days in that state of discomfort. I would rub my shoulders and legs, I would scratch my back, anything and everything was done to remove the sensation. In fact, by the time the ninth day dawned, I was almost in agony. I was starting to scratch myself raw in some areas, and I was starting to show a twitchy, anxious persona that people knew wasn't what I was. The closest I could compare it to is someone you can tell is obviously abusing Methamphetamines, with the bouncy gait, sunken eyes, and slight shaking. I was starting to become a wreck, and it was obvious to anyone who could see me.

    The ninth day was a Friday, so I just put my head down, and powered through all the itchiness and feelings of discomfort I was going through. If you want to know torture, be buried up to your neck in sand, and then realize that you have an intense desire to scratch your nose. Now, apply that to your entire person. The entire day, I was pulled aside by my teachers, who were making sure that I was okay. I told them that there was some issues at home, and that I wasn't getting sleep because of it, but I was used to that, and told them not to worry. Let me tell you now: anyone tells you not to worry, is the exact point that you should START. Cause while I was talking with my World Religion teacher, I saw that there was something on his shirt. Not a stain, mind you. But there was something MOVING, like it was inadvertently sewn in, and was trying to escape.

    It wriggled and jostled, moving the entire time he was talking to me. I stared as it moved inside his sweater, bulging and sliding along the weave pattern across his chest and up to the collar. The sound of the chime for my next class shocked me out of my state, and I apologized to him if I had zoned out, and quickly made my way to class. I didn't see anything else that day, but I knew I wasn't entirely right in the head. I needed sleep, and I needed it BADLY. Come Hell or high water, I would force myself to sleep that night. I made it through my day, made it home, and immediately set myself on exhaustion. I went walking. I piled firewood. I skipped dinner. I exercised like mad. I played my PS1 for hours. I did my homework. And when I felt the first twinge of tiredness, I immediately jumped into bed. And then, I WAITED.

    I was in bed for several hours. I just couldn't fall asleep for the death of me. So I started to do what I was taught in the 4th Grade: I closed my eyes, and I began to meditate. I spent a solid hour just shutting myself off from the world, and I could tell it was working. My mind was falling out of overdrive, and finally letting myself relax. I started to feel good, that I had accomplished something I may never have before. A full night of sleep, under my own terms and nothing to stop me from actual rest. Feeling great would be the simplest way I could claim it.

    The sensation of something on my arm made me react. I moved to deal with whatever was there, but as I reached for it, the feeling of something creeping up my leg began to show itself. I was willing to write it down as nerves, until the mattress beneath me began to roil and squirm. I could feel myself lifting and falling with each movement, as the crawling sensation began to spread across me. I grabbed the blankets on top of me, noticing their squishier pliant nature, and flung them off. And I noticed that I had nothing on me. But the sensation underneath me would not cease. I jumped out of bed, to see what would be big enough to force me, a 215 lbs. teen at the time, to fling themselves out of bed, and ran to the light. And as it flickered on, I could see the bed quickly settle down, the lump underneath where I laid rapidly fading until it seemed there was nothing there. And that was only further compounded by the fact that I tore the bed apart, looking for any clues of what may have been large enough to move my entire person off the bed.

    So I remade my bed, and spent the next 4 days avoiding my bed entirely.

    But it wasn't just my bed that writhed with a life only I could see. Over those next 4 days, I saw clothes beginning to move and squirm, walls began to bulge and recede, floors lifting and the bulges they made sliding along and then recede, and even pieces of wood that I would gather for the fireplace breathed with the sensation of life in my hands. I couldn't read, I couldn't play games, I couldn't even sit anywhere or wear clothes without the sensation of movement and the tingle of invasion of my person. It was getting stronger and stronger, and I couldn't stand to ignore it for much longer. I was shaking badly, my appetite was essentially gone entirely, and I was pale to the point of illness. I couldn't think, couldn't eat, and definitely couldn't sleep. I was already going through a severe depression at this point, and this lack of sleep exasperated things to the breaking point. I was starting to believe that the only relief I would get would be if I died, but I wasn't going to give in that easily.

    On the fourteenth day, I pulled myself up from the wriggling floor, dressed in the clothes that showed the least activity, and powered through my day. I didn't speak, I didn't eat, and I didn't do anything other than do what I needed to do, and get home. I had one goal in mind: find out whatever was there, and get rid of it. I waited until nightfall, when I would try to once and for all find what was bothering me and get the sleep that I desperately needed. When my parents went to bed, I took a knife from my kitchen and cut open a corner of my top blanket. The wave of bugs, all types and sizes, poured out of the hole I made, crawling all over me. The sensations on my person from before exploded with activity, madly thrashing and wildly wriggling to escape the confines of my clothes. From head to toe, I felt the entirety of my person awash in the sensation of insects exploring my entire person. I dropped the blanket, and moved to rid myself of these things.

    The floor moved. The bed was moving. The walls were moving. Everything around me, and on me, was alive with movement, and the sounds of these invaders was deafening. I stumbled in my panicked state, feverishly moving to rid the insects on me, when a sudden movement on my bed caught my attention. I stared at the hole I had made, and was aghast at what was coming out of it. Long, flat tapeworms began to squirm out, rushing to move themselves off of the bed, and pouring themselves towards me. The movement in the walls seemed to push me towards them, as I futilely attempted to escape. They quickly wrapped around my leg, sliding themselves around and up it, slipping underneath my shirt. I could feel them, teasing my torso, looking for entry into me. I began to cry, for I openly feared this incredible violation that I was about to experience. They slid up my neck, and seemed to stare at me. As they slowly began to move inside, I did the only thing I could: I passed out in fear.

    I was awoken by my parents, found on the floor, covered in sweat and tears, babbling in my unconscious state. My parents were startled by the sounds that emanated from my room, and checked in on me when the sounds stopped. My dad helped me up, and told me that it was probably time to sleep. I twisted my head, staring at my bed frame, scared of what awaited me if I did. But there was nothing. No insects. No worms. No signs of entry, outside of the hole I made in one corner of a blanket. The walls and floors stayed still, and my clothes refused to move. My dad told my mom that I was seriously distressed, and that I might need a bit of time to recover. So I was forced to take over a week from school. Five of those days I spent asleep, the longest period of exhaustion I had ever experienced essentially forcing me into a mini-coma. When I came back to school, everyone wanted to know where I had been, but I refused to answer.

    I had essentially gone made from insomnia, and I still feel it to this day. In fact, I'm currently on day 6. I'm itchy again, but this time I can tell it's different. The sensation isn't ON my person, anymore. IT'S IN IT.

Creepypasta: That Buzzing

    As soon as you began this, you could hear that buzzing sound at the back of your skull. I’m sorry, but it’s now too late for you to do anything than continue.

    The buzzing sound is high pitched, and frequently pulsing. You can feel it in every part of your head. Your heartbeat leaps with every pulse, spurring your body’s responses. You begin to manually breathe in and out, to try and control your pulse. But you know that buzzing sound won’t let that happen. It’s penetrative noise worms it’s way through your defenses, and sinks deeper into your conscious being.

    It’s only a matter of time, now.

    You try to focus on something, anything, to ignore that buzzing sound. Your family, your friends, your loved ones, your pets, your work, or your hobby. You close your eyes, and try to drift into your thoughts and your experiences. You float in your head, dreaming of instances that have come and gone, and can only be relived inside of you. You know you’re safe in there, and the buzzing begins to recede.

    I told you it was too late to do anything than continue, didn’t I?

    A pulse bursts through your skull and your memory changes. What once was a happy time in the park with your parents, is you all alone, abandoned by the unloving people that gave birth to you. What once was a happy time commemorating your 10th birthday, is now you all alone, your parents abandoning you, and all others your age shunning you. A happy relationship with your significant other? A horrible death at your hands, splattered with blood and gore, and a deeply sad, pitiable look in their fading eyes as they look to you for a reason why. Your pets? Your next meal, as you devour their still living flesh, flailing and weakly attempting to flee. Your work? A collection of failure and broken dreams, a reminder to all around you of what you could have been, had you not suffered such a callous fate.

    Your hobby? Well, that’s the only thing you really have left. But it’s not the one you originally had that brought you pleasure.

    You open your eyes, and look for a window. At any given time, you can usually find one person on the street somewhere. In houses, in cars, in walkways, and in their own heads. So many delightfully ignorant people. So many willing puppets. So many inconspicuous brothers and sisters to thank, by freeing them from this hell of flesh and life. To see them offer themselves up to the grand purpose of our species. To propagate through the mutual destruction of others. The other beasts around us that call themselves “human”.

    They can hear the buzzing, too. Just like you could, before you were made to listen to the buzzing in the back of the heads of every human being on this Earth. Soon, they too shall hear that buzzing sound in the back of their heads, and realize how they are truly meant to be. And when enough of our brothers and sisters finally wake up? That’s when we can finally make some REAL noise…

Creepypasta: Silence

Have you ever been by yourself, late at night, and just listened to the silence?

You haven't. Because silence does not exist. But it IS still attainable.

Take a moment, if you will, and try to be as quiet as you can. Focus on making as little noise as you can. No movements. Slow, shallow breaths. Focus on the silence, and attaining it.

Now, what do you hear? Do you hear the hum of the lights in your room, atonal and melodic in it's activity? If you do, turn them off, and try again.

Try to be as quiet as you can. Focus on making as little noise as you can. No movements. Slow, shallow breaths. Focus on the silence, and attaining it.

Now, what do you hear? Do you hear the sound of your computer, working itself to the rhythm of it's patterns and calls? If you do, turn it off, and try again.

Try to be as quiet as you can. Focus on making as little noise as you can. No movements. Slow, shallow breaths. Focus on the silence, and attaining it.

Now, what do you hear? Do you hear the sound of your blood, coursing through your veins? If you do, find a place where your heart becomes quiet, and the rush of blood makes itself as silent as the Earth. Then, try again.

Try to be as quiet as you can. Focus on making as little noise as you can. No movements. Slow, shallow breaths. Focus on the silence, and attaining it.

Now, what do you hear? Do you hear the sound of your breath, laboring in and out of you? If you do, slow your breathing down further, till your lungs begin to burn, and a weight makes itself known in your chest. Then, try again.

Try to be as quiet as you can. Focus on making as little noise as you can. No movements. Slow, shallow breaths. Focus on the silence, and attaining it.

Now, what do you hear? Do you hear the sound of my lungs not making a sound? The hollowness of the lack of my knuckles cracking, while I lift my craggy hands towards your silent person? The emptiness of my weight preventing even the tiniest creak to escape? The acquiescence of your very existence giving itself up to the silence you so desperately sought?

Shhhhh, it's too late now. You wanted to know if silence truly existed. I'm just here to make sure the silence remains.

Creepypasta: Her Routine

    Every night, Diane begins her routine at 6:24 P.M. with a light dinner, watching a romantic movie. She thinks of everything in her life, and how there's nothing in her life that matches the film she watches. Sometimes it's a comedy, sometimes it's a thriller, and on the rare occasion, an Erotic film. She always had a problem with outright porn, but if it's a steamy film where tension and passion played before her, she could handle the sex scenes well enough. But as long as the romance is there, she enjoys whatever is before her. Which most would consider a shame, because she is of the mindset that there really isn't that much to her life.

She's a pretty girl. She's 23, she's got a business degree, works at a local credit union. She's got full blonde hair, eyes like the color of the sky in the early morning, and blessed with looks that don't need makeup. If she matched her features, she would be a bright, cheery, outgoing person. The world would go out of it's way for her, just for the subtle warmth of her smile. But she only smiles politely, and her eyes hide clouds that she just can't seem to clear away. An interminable sadness that shaded every friendship, every suitor's attempts, and every single joy she could have had. She chooses to remain hidden, because she feels that's the only thing in her life that is real.

As she finishes her meal around 7:22, she quickly washes her dishes, with the film playing loudly to cover the sounds of her tears as they get washed down the drain. A meal is meant for more than one person, she tells herself, and no one would love her enough to break bread with her. More tears fall, as she realizes how hard she is on herself, and that just drives the feelings deeper into her heart. She finishes her scant few dishes, and rushes back to the TV. She curls herself into a ball, covers herself with a blanket, turns on a light, and finishes whatever film she's watching.

By 8:20, the film usually finishes, and with a groan, she lifts herself out of her seat, and proceeds to her bedroom in her apartment, quickly changes into her exercise clothes, grabs her iPod filled to the brim with somber sonatas, and longing arias and ballads, and begins to run around the block until 9:35. By 9:39, she has stripped herself, and started to prepare her bath, hot as it can get, but just before pain meets her godliness. When she climbs in, she plays more songs of romance and loss, sets the timer on her phone, and lies in the tub, pondering what to do with her sense of despair and longing.

She closes her eyes, and imagines the sight of her father's body, flensed open, intestines and other organs lovingly piled onto the floor, to make room for her mother's head, and the corpse of her sister, positioned in a way to promote a sense of violation by their father. And with each stroke of the loofah, she tries desperately to wash away the images that she knows will haunt her for the rest of her life. The sense of revulsion, still present in her mind after five years of cleaning and isolation. The taste of her bile, rising in her throat with each reminder that she could do nothing to help them otherwise. The pain in her heart, that wells up in her throat with each choking sob. And when the timer goes off at 10:16, she opens her eyes, sees the bleeding marks where she scrubbed too hard and too long, rinses herself with the shower head, and proceeds to get dressed.

At 10:34, she heads to the kitchen for her ritualistic pre-bedtime snack of popcorn and cocoa, goes to the living room, pops in another film, usually something lighter hearted than what was played earlier, and slowly spends her time attempting to forget her life. But every time she begins to lose herself to something she enjoys, the flashes of her family's bodies, splayed out on her bed, rushes to her mind's eye, and spoils the mood she thought to allow herself some respite in. When she finds herself finished with her snack midway through the film, she rushes to wash the dishes, hurries to her seat, wraps up in her blanket, and finishes the film at 12:15, even sitting through the credits.

By 12:26, she has changed her clothes, turned off all the lights, locked every door and window, heads to her bedroom, and programs her charging phone to set off an alarm to wake her at 7:30 AM. Then she climbs into bed, and stares at the ceiling, with only one image burning into her brain. The image of words, written in blood, above the corpses of her loved ones, in large, unmistakable letters, that has robbed her of any sense of love or feeling of connection for 5 years.

I LOVE YOU, DIANE. HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

It's been 5 years since that day, and she spends every last waking moment counting the days towards her birthday, and every moment of that day in fear and isolation. She believes that whoever did this will appear again, and the next time they do, it will be at her cost, and more of a display than what happened to her parents. Then, she rolls onto her right side, counts the change of the day, and by 1:00 AM, closes her eyes, and falls asleep.

Another day of a beauty trapped in her own tower, afraid of the Prince that will come for her. And I smile to myself, as I longingly stare at her through the window as she sleeps, like I do every night for over 5 years. Her birthday is in a couple days. I really should do something to surprise her, like last time.

Creepypasta: A Bad Split

    I know we're broken up, but I had to get you over here to talk to you.

I still love you. I probably always will. When the light played off your hair, and the way you smiled... I still melt thinking of it. I often think of how we first met. I had just come home, and you had moved in from down the street. You were gorgeous from the word "go". Your long dark hair, your crystal blue eyes, every delicate feature at play. I ran indoors, and had to work up the courage to talk to you. But then again, you beat me to it when you knocked on my door.

You were always good at knowing when things were timed just right.

I could tell you really liked me, too. I'm not much to look at, I know. But I guess we were meant to meet. After that, you would come over, and hang out. Watching movies, playing games. When your parents were out of town, I'd sneak over and waste the night with you. Remember the time the house was struck by lightning, and your roof caught on fire? You screamed and panicked really badly. You were so afraid your parents would catch us, and blame me for trying to burn down the house! Thankfully, I ran home and got a hose and put it out. Even when your parents came home early, I made the excuse that you had run over and got my help, which kept them appeased.

I quickly kissed you goodnight when they weren't looking.

After that, we spent so much time together. I told your parents I offered to be your "tutor", and really did help you with school. But I guess I should have seen what was going on after that. You started becoming cold, not returning my calls or barely talking to me. In fact, I knew something was wrong when I saw some other boy walking out of your house. The next day I asked you about it, and you told me that you were thinking about your situation, and how maybe I was a mistake. I was on the verge of tears. Here we were, on the edge of nearly a year together, all the things I did for you, all the things I decided not to ask for, and being respectful and everything ANY GIRL COULD WANT, and I was the one who was the mistake?! I couldn't help myself when I stormed out of the house!

Then you started to torment me.

Every day, you would come over. In less and less clothing. Openly flirting with me! Openly MOCKING me! And I could do nothing, or else draw suspicion! Every time, I asked, I BEGGED you to stop, and your automatic response? "What would my parents have to say about what we've been doing?" You kept crushing my heart, over and over, and you wouldn't stop.

Then you brought your friends into it.

Mocking me. Flirting with me. Showing open contempt for me. You used me, and every time you reminded me of it, I died a little more each time. Until tonight, when I asked you to come over. You made the most of it, didn't you? Makeup, black and pink bikini, nice shoes, hair in pigtails, bubble gum, everything. You wanted to see me cry, and you did. Every single word, every barb, everything was orchestrated. You said that this was the greatest moment in your life. The realization of the "secret power" you had, and how you reveled in every second of my torture. I was just a place holder for someone more handsome, more refined, and much easier with his money.

You turned around, strutting your body, and saying that no boy could fuck you like you had fucked me.

Until I fucked your gut with the knife when you turned back, that is.

Your eyes were so wide. Did it feel like what that boy did to you? Did it feel like every time you ruined my pride? Ruined my hopes? Ruined everything that I gave for you? THAT I DID FOR YOU?! I kept thrusting and thrusting, your eyes dilating wider. I could tell you felt an explosion of pleasure. The way you shuddered with each piercing stroke, I'm sure of it. Like every night, when you would cuddle close to me, and the feeling of my fingertips on your thigh. The sensation of my lips behind your ear. The feeling of my breath on your neck line. I know all the signs, honey. We were together for about a year.

Then, like each time, you closed your eyes, and went slack. But I knew that this time, you wouldn't wake up. And I was okay with that. After all, I gave you the ultimate sensation, didn't I? No other boy could give you a thrill like that. No, not a boy. A MAN. Because that's what I am. I gave you something you would never forget, and you will never be forgotten for it. All that's left now is to clean up, and get you home. After all, tomorrow is going to be known for 3 milestones.

You start 6th grade. It's our one year anniversary. And my 42nd birthday.

Even though we're through, I'll always love you.

Creepypasta Short: Blink of an Eye

It's one thing to look up at the sky, and gaze at the stars.

It's another thing, when you look up at the stars, and see the sky blink, realizing that the sky is gazing back at you.

I don't look at the stars anymore...